


Castles of Sand

by amanitamuscaria



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-09
Updated: 2016-12-09
Packaged: 2018-09-07 11:46:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8799625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amanitamuscaria/pseuds/amanitamuscaria
Summary: Harry tries to find a reason to live.Written for Secret Snarry Swap2013





	

**Castles of Sand**  

  
  
He is shocked when he awakes in the infirmary, Potter sitting by his bed looking as though he's just come from the battlefield.  
  
"Faugh! Potter, at least wash before you come visiting the injured!" he croaks.  
  
The smile which lights up the boy's eyes is tired, hopeful, and entirely too adult.  
  
"We're both alive. Both of us. Survived. Voldemort - didn't."  
  
He stares into Potter's green eyes, reading the memory of the battle, whilst subconsciously tallying the score of his injuries and hardening his resolve.  
  
He could, if pressed, stand up, but probably not walk or Apparate at this moment.  
  
"You're not going anywhere yet," Potter states, as if reading his thoughts.  
  
"No," he agrees, "But I will go soon."  
  
Potter searches his face, but does not plead or argue. He just repeats, softly, "We both survived."  
  
"And, having done so, I intend to continue to survive. Think for once, Potter. I have made countless enemies, on all sides in this war."  
  
"Hm. That's why you're in here, away from everyone. Madam Pomfrey knows, no one else. I'll talk to Shacklebolt, he's interim Minister. I'll tell him what happened."  
  
Severus sighs wearily. "It won't make any difference. Listen to me!" he says sharply, when Potter seems likely to interrupt. "It will not be just the Ministry. It will not just be Death Eaters who will feel I betrayed them. It will not just be family and friends of those lost to the Death Eaters."  
  
Potter bows his head over their joined hands. When had he taken his hand?  
  
"I will disappear. You will grant me the thing I most desire. You will learn to live, to do mundanely useful things. Find someone to love, who will love you. Start a family. Become ordinary, and live!"  
  
"Will you not ask what I most desire?"  
  
He shakes his head slowly. "No. You will obey me in this."  
  
The boy looks at him. "Please, will you let me know how-"  
  
"No. You will not hear from me. Go. Now."  
  
Potter stares at him for a long moment, then stands and walks out.  
  
When Poppy comes in later, he's managed to dress, and is seated, waiting for her.  
  
She sighs, "I suppose it's useless telling you to wait until you recover a little?"  
  
He inclines his head; they've had an understanding forged over many years.  
  
"I have put together some of your healing and blood replenishment potions." She gives him a small clutch of bottles. "Severus, will you let me know -"  
  
"No."  
  
She places a gentle hand on his arm. "Go safely, and if you need anything …"  
  
"Thank you; I will manage."  
  
She opens the small fireplace, he casts the Floo powder and steps in.  
  
* * *  
  
  
The Wedding of the Century  
  
  
When Ron and Hermione find him, he's been sitting so long at the top of the Astronomy tower, he can hardly stand.  
  
"Come on, mate, let's go see Madam Pomfrey."  
  
Harry flinches away, "No, not the Hospital Wing."  
  
"Well, ok, the common room, then?"  
  
Hermione peers at him worriedly, and they escort him down and seat him in front of the fire.  
  
  
  
"Harry? Wake up, mate, let's get some breakfast. I'm starving!"  
  
Ron is crashing about the room, and when Harry pulls the hangings of his bed back, he flops onto the bed, the big grin muting to a smile. Harry slumps back against the pillow. He hasn't slept, and the Great Hall - "No, that's alright. I'll get something later."  
  
Ron looks at him then - "Christ, Harry, you look awful. I'll bring something back for you."  
  
The room is quiet for too short a while before, "Harry? We brought you some toast, and tea."  
  
Hermione is peering at him, the shy smile disappearing when Harry turns to look at her. She becomes the brisk organising Hermione he recognises from their wanderings, from the tent.  
  
"The Great Hall is almost back to normal - the ceiling still needs some charms. We're all going to The Burrow while the school is repaired. You'll need to pack as soon as you've had breakfast, we have a Portkey for this afternoon. Up you get; we're all down in the common room."  
  
She gives Ron a meaningful look as she steers him out the door.  
  
Harry stares around the room - it's different, not where he spent the six years with Ron and Neville and the rest, but then, who would have been here - all of them had been camped in the Room of Requirement, or not at Hogwarts at all. He drags himself up, still in the filthy clothes from before. Before - he pulls them off, goes to stand under the hottest shower he can bear.  
  
"Come on, time to stop drowning yourself," Ron says, thrusting a towel at him. He finds clean robes on the bed; all the dirty clothes have gone, he thinks wildly, almost as if it hadn't happened. From the window, however, he can see the lawns furrowed, rubble, smoke still rising here and there.  
  
Mrs. Weasley enfolds him in a hug as soon as he gets down the stairs, and he manages not to turn and run back upstairs, but can't help standing stiff and awkward as she clutches him and cries on his shoulder.  
  
"Now, now, Molly, let the boy breathe," Mr. Weasley gently disengages her, holding her close.  
  
Ginny and Hermione take stations on either side of him, and he is steered to the settee in front of the fire. George, looking shell-shocked, is sitting in the chair, Charlie leaning on the arm.  
  
"Have you got everything, Harry?" Hermione asks, but she's getting up, already knowing the answer. Ginny links her arm through his, and he thinks it would be churlish to pull away.  
  
  
  
The Burrow is full, but seems very quiet without Fred. Mrs. Weasley embarks on a renovation program that requires all of their help, and keeps them busy from morning to night, when Arthur and Percy arrive home exhausted.  
  
"Harry, dear, you help Ginny with removing the furniture; start at the top of the house. Hermione and I can sort and repair it. George, you and Ronald will be taking the rooms apart- " She holds up a hand as Ron leaps up grinning. "We will need all the materials - tiles, wood; it needs to be done carefully, so we can reuse everything. Wood doesn't grow on trees, you know."  
  
Ron and Ginny laugh, and even George cracks a small smile.  
  
With Ron and George working above them, thumps and screeches of withdrawn nails and the occasional crash and shout of "Sorry!" Ginny says, "I'll convince the ghoul he needs to stay in the potting shed. You can start moving everything into the middle of the attic, ok?"  
  
Harry drifts down to the far end of the dark, dusty room.  
  
There are chests and crates, old furniture and books, toys and little darting, scurrying things that he never gets a good look at. The roof tiles' removal starts to let light into the dusty space, and Ginny works next to him, quiet and careful.  
  
He appreciates that she doesn't bombard him with questions, he just feels her eyes upon him now and again. Once some of the rafters are gone, he starts levitating things down to Hermione, while Ginny moves them to hand.  
  
  
  
Molly serves bangers and mash out on the lawn once Arthur and Percy return from work. The May evening is unseasonably warm and, Harry abruptly realises, unreasonably peaceful. He raises his head from the plate where he's been pushing his sausages around. Hermione is whispering anxiously in Ron's ear, Arthur is holding Molly's hand. Percy is looking worried, and George is staring down at his mash while Charlie talks softly to him. The Weasley family is grieving, and he is an intruder here. He rises, but before he can bolt, Ginny takes his arm, whispers, "Don't, please don't, you'll make it worse."   
  
Molly looks up and says, too brightly, "If you're finished, Harry, would you help Ginny with the plates? I'll get dessert."   
  
Ron mutters, "If you're not going to eat them -", stopping when Hermione elbows him.   
  
He slides the untouched sausages onto Ron's plate in passing, and collects plates.   
  
Ginny corners him on the way out. "Mum couldn't bear to lose anyone else just now, Harry - please, stay for awhile, until things get a little more normal."   
  
"I feel I'm intruding."  
  
"You're not. Mum sees you as one of the family. You saw how she was when Bill went to check on Shell Cottage -" Mrs. Weasley had made as much fuss as if Bill had been going to join Fred in the afterlife. Only Bill's promise to return with Fleur at the weekend, and Arthur's murmured reassurances, had calmed her. She'd made Arthur and Percy late for work every day as well as fretting when they weren't home at five precisely. "She's only just holding it together. Fred's funeral's on Saturday." He reluctantly agrees.   
  
  
  
The sunny days pass - it's as though the weather is trying to apologise for the past year, for Voldemort's ascendancy. Fred's funeral is part of a much larger ceremony that takes place before the still-damaged school. Hermione disillusions him, and he is surrounded by Weasleys, otherwise he knows he would be mobbed; otherwise - his eyes drift to the entrance, but no Potions Master comes out of the school with the other teachers. Shacklebolt and McGonagall conduct a dignified service on the lawn that seems green with grief, green with a rebounding curse. Luna is the only one who comes over and grips his hand, sees through the disillusionment. "I'm sorry, Harry. Mellifluous Midgnashers are surrounding you; well, they're surrounding everyone. That's why it's so very bad. They'll go once we have a bit of rain."  
  
Harry's eyes stay itchy and dry, even for Fred, even for Remus, even for Colin and all the rest. He feels unnatural and wrong in the midst of quiet tears, soft sobbing, an occasional wail. He feels all cried out, and numb. He doesn't want to be here, he doesn't want to be at the Burrow, but he doesn't want to be at Grimmauld Place, either. He doesn't want to be in the magic world, but he doesn't want to be without magic. When Ginny takes his arm, says, "I don't suppose you want to go into the school for the wake? I'd rather get back, myself," he nods. Molly, Arthur and Percy stay, the rest of them Apparate back, and the Burrow actually feels peaceful, restful, after the crowds and the grieving. Ron, Hermione and Ginny sit down with him out in the garden.  
  
"Where would you go if you left, Harry? You can't go to the Leaky, they'd mob you," Hermione says.  
  
"No, and Grimmauld - you can't, all the meetings there, with Tonks and Remus," - and Severus, Harry adds silently - "And it's so dark - please don't go there!"  
  
"You weren't thinking of going back to those Muggles, were you? They starved you, and locked you up!"  
  
Harry looks down, picking at a piece of grass.  
  
"Stay here with us, at least for a bit. Until things calm down."  
  
"We can really use your help with Mum's project - I know she's working us like house-elves, " Ron shoots an apologetic glance at Hermione, "but it's not that bad, and having more people around helps George."  
  
"I'm going to go fetch my parents here, and I'll probably need help reversing the memory charms, and explaining things. I thought maybe they'd like to get a place here in Ottery, at least for a bit; it's nice and quiet here. Please stay, Harry."  
  
He reluctantly nods, simply because all they've said makes sense, and he can't think of where to go, what to do, anyway.  
  
"Come on, then, and help me start supper?" Ginny asks, taking his arm again. "I doubt Mum will be up to it, and we can get it all ready for her."  
  
"I'll help," Hermione chimes in, "And Ron, will you pick us some veg, please?"  
  
  
  
Hermione returns with her parents. The renovation goes on. Luna and Neville come over to help.   
  
"You know, there's a lovely couple of fields for sale between here and the river, Harry. You ought to have a look," Luna says.  
  
"Really?" Hermione chips in, "I was looking for somewhere my mum and dad could settle - they seem to have caught some sort of pioneer spirit in Australia -"  
  
"Well, let's all go check it out."  
  
  
  
They tramp across fields the next day, and Luna leads them to a gentle slope overlooking a stream bordered by willows, with a hanger wood above, where the slope steepens. It's quiet, full of bird song and peacefulness.  
  
"Conquer Barrow is up there. There's owls, and wandwood fey, and foxes and badgers. Flidgets and whimbers down by the stream."  
  
Hermione's parents look at Luna, but Hermione laughs. "It's beautiful. What do you think, Mum? Dad?"  
  
"Well, how would we get building materials in? What's the access like?" Hermione's dad, John, cuts straight to practicalities.  
  
"There's a farm track," Luna says at the same time as Ron says, "Fly it all in," and suddenly, everyone is talking plans, stepping out dimensions, and Harry is swept along, Ginny taking his elbow, steering him into the middle of the conversation.  
  
He could do worse, much worse, he thinks, as the enthusiasm builds. He's enjoyed the work on the Burrow; it's distracting, and he can fall asleep exhausted at the end of the day. There's not much time for thinking and brooding, and he remembers that dreadful summer after Cedric, after the Tri-Wizard Tournament, when he had altogether too much time to think.  
  
"Let's do it," he says firmly.  
  
That appears to be the signal everyone's been waiting for, and they're in Ottery, talking to the owner, at Gringotts, and in a suburban bank on a suburban high street, finalising details in very quick succession.  
  
When they all sit down at an enlarged table outside the Burrow a few days later, they have bought rather more than one field.  
  
"We'll take that field closest to town, it only makes sense," Anne, Hermione's mum, says. "You can get around so much easier than us, and I should like the walk to the shops, it's less than a mile."  
  
Ginny looks at him, her eyes warm. "You could build something small, just to retreat to if we all get a bit much for you, here. It's so peaceful and lovely by the river, and you don't have to let anyone know where you are. Just say you're staying with us."  
  
Molly brings out paper, and they're all busy drawing plans.  
  
John sketches a bungalow, glancing up at the Burrow worriedly, adding rooms as his wife thinks of them - " ... and a study for you, oh, and on the north side, a studio, all glass, for my painting ..."  
  
Harry draws one room, with everything arranged along the walls.  
  
Ginny takes his hand, murmurs, "What about a workroom? You like working with wood, and you're good at it."  
  
It's not a bad idea; he does enjoy the feel of shaping wood, as much as he enjoys anything, these days.  
  
She says softly, "You could talk to Ollivander; he hasn't opened his shop much recently."  
  
And that, too, is worth considering. He looks at her, and she smiles, squeezes his hand. "You need time, and you need to keep busy. And you need to remember, we all love you."  
  
"When did you get so wise?" he asks; she's been by him, working with him, steering him through the difficult times, yet not pressuring him. Ron and Hermione - he suddenly realises they're a couple. They're involved with each other, have been for awhile, and he hasn't noticed.  
  
"Hey, Ron? Hermione?"  
  
They look up, everyone looks at him.   
  
"You two," he gestures with his free hand, and they blush, look at each other. John looks surprised, then narrows his eyes at Ron. Molly and Anne smile at each other, conspirators.  
  
"When did that happen?"  
  
Ginny squeezes his hand, Ron clears his throat and says, "We want to get married. Mum, Dad," he looks beseechingly at the Grangers after his own parents. Hermione is smiling up at her mum.  
  
The table erupts in congratulations, Arthur brings out some elderberry wine for a toast, more plans are drawn. Molly is looking at him and Ginny.  
  
  
  
"It won't be for awhile, yet," Ron says as he, Hermione, and Harry walk over to the land they now own. "We both need to find jobs first."  
  
"Um, since when have you two -"  
  
"After - well, the battle. That night. It just seemed right, you know?" They're both looking anxiously at him, and he refuses to let his own sorrow cloud their happiness.  
  
"That's great. You two - you were meant for each other. Since First Year, really. That's absolutely brilliant. Congratulations."  
  
It's as though they'd needed his approval, maybe even more than their parents', and Harry is hugged and kissed thoroughly by Hermione, and they're both enveloped in Ron's arms.  
  
"Ah, great - we were worried, you know, because you were so down, and we didn't want to upset you. We'll still be mates, we'll include you, nothing's going to change -"  
  
Harry and Hermione both pull away and stare at him.  
  
"Uh, listen, I really hope you don't mean that," he says, at the same time as Hermione says, "Um, Ron, things will change ..."  
  
They're all laughing, and it's a little bit like it used to be, and he's happy for them.  
  
"You know, you could -" Ron starts to say.  
  
"Ron! Not now."  
  
Harry looks between them, and Ron glances at Hermione, then continues.  
  
"Ginny - well, you could make it a double, you know."  
  
He turns away. "That wouldn't be fair on her."  
  
They walk back, quiet.  
  
  
  
In the autumn, Ron starts at the Ministry, in the Auror program. Hermione has been headhunted for the Ministry, too, but she's also been in discussions with Minerva. Ginny is back at Hogwarts.  
  
Harry thinks he should go and talk to Ollivander.   
  
The house is slowly coming back together, but work is much slower now it's he and George, with Molly and Bill helping.  
  
On weekends, everyone pitches in together, even John and Anne, who are in the midst of their own build.  
  
The roof is on, the windows in, and decorating proceeds as the first snow falls.  
  
Arthur goes with him one spring day to pace out the foundations of his cottage, but he tells everyone he wants to do it all himself.  
  
He's spent time sitting here, gazing out towards the willows, and knows where he wants to look, what he wants to see out of his windows.  
  
He has been slowly raising walls, feeling the way the place will sit in the slope when, with a whoosh, Ginny lands her broom.  
  
She is red-cheeked and sparkling from the flying, and surrounds him and his silent half-built house with chatter and life.  
  
"I've got a try-out for the Cannons on Monday. I could go into charm-crafting, I've got the NEWTs for it, but I can always do that later. D'you want to come along and watch?"  
  
"Oh, you'll ace it."  
  
"Come over for supper tonight - Ron and Hermione will be there, and Bill and Fleur, Charlie's over for a visit as well. Mum said she hadn't seen you for a bit."  
  
"Ah, well, I've been busy, here, you know ..."  
  
"Come on. You've still got your broom, haven't you? I'll race you back."  
  
He looks longingly at the fireplace and chimney he's been building, but Ginny is a force he can't withstand. She whirls him up and over to the Burrow. The whole extended family is there; it's Ginny's party for finishing Hogwarts. He had lost track of the time, and has not been amongst so many people for months. They're all friends, but the bustle and noise is overwhelming.  
  
"Ginny, why don't you show Harry over the house? Neither of you have seen it since it's been finished," Molly says.  
  
"After that, you both can look over ours, that's finished, too." Anne smiles at them.  
  
Hermione is deep in conversation with Fleur, and Ron and George and Charlie are talking Quidditch, so Harry goes with Ginny.  
  
They wander through the place; it's almost as homey as he remembers from before.  
  
"I think that's mainly why she did it," Ginny says, peeking into a back room on the ground floor. "No reminders, and it's close to everything going on."  
  
He sees it's George's room, as different as a loving mother could make it from the twins' shared room.  
  
Ginny's room is last, at the top of the house now, and full of trunk, Quidditch posters, and all the accumulated bits of a last year at school.  
  
"How are you, really?" she asks, sitting on the bed and patting the space beside her.  
  
He wanders over to the window to look down on the long table, all the people who care about him, who love him. They've stuck by him through all that's happened, never asking for anything back. He wonders who else would have done so, who else would have been as selfless, as welcoming. He's brought them heartache and worry. Severus is gone. He knows that now. He's looked through the  _Prophet_ , the  _Quibbler_ , and there's been not a hint, not a whisper. Severus is gone, and he'd better start living his life.  
  
"I'm ok. It's getting better, you know?"  
  
She is warm behind him, at his shoulder.  
  
"I love them all, so much. There was a time, last year, when I thought we would all - just disappear."  
  
He nods. He'd thought the same.  
  
"Harry?" her voice is small; he turns, and she kisses him.  
  
There is a cheer from below, and he thinks, so different. Soft, and small, and she's been very patient with him. He wants to say that he can't, that he's broken, but all that comes out is, "I'm not - right. I may never be."  
  
She strokes her hand along his face, and it's been so long since anyone's touched him, so few times, that he turns into the warmth.  
  
"I don't think any of us are 'right', but we keep on living, and make do with what we are, with what we can find."  
  
He looks at her and thinks, perhaps she is right, perhaps there is nothing else to do.  
  
"I can't commit to anything, Ginny. You should have better than that, you should have someone better."  
  
"I don't want anyone better; I don't want anyone else. You - just take your time. I'll wait."  
  
And he is hurt by the love in her eyes, knowing she deserves so much more than he can offer.  
  
Hermione looks at them both closely when they return.  
  
But Charlie and George are declaiming to Celestina Warbeck on the radio, Molly is shouting at them, shushing them, everyone else is laughing at their antics.  
  
Charlie finally flops down beside him, while George is being crowned 'King of the Rappers' by Bill and Fleur, with an icebucket, and borne aloft for a victory lap of the garden.  
  
"I'm going to be helping George in the shop, come August," he says to Harry.  
  
"Really? What about the dragons?"  
  
"Ah, well, that's a young man's game; I'm getting slower - and the burns hurt more."  
  
Harry looks at him.  
  
"It'll be good for George, he's still floundering a bit. Also, Mum's happier with me back in the country. It's shaken everyone up, makes you re-evaluate your priorities, doesn't it."  
  
Harry nods, and they clink glasses, and Charlie turns to toast his younger brother.  
  
That's what family do, thinks Harry. They don't concentrate on themselves, but put family first. He looks over at Ginny, filling George's icebucket with butterbeer, laughing with him. I could try; I could try to make her happy, he thinks. It would make Arthur and Molly happy, too. He resolves to go to Ollivander's tomorrow.  
  
  
  
But Ollivander's isn't open. He meets Ron for lunch, goes back to Ron's office, and becomes an Auror.  
  
He's still not entirely sure how that happens; one moment he and Ron are standing in a large office, and it feels familiar, like the Room of Requirement just before the final battle. Some people intent on their work, some joking, a feeling of a common goal. Harry receives a handshake or two, a backslap from Lee and Malcom, but nothing more. Kingsley comes in, and it all feels so easy that he's signing on for the basic training and being given the tour that afternoon.  
  
And he can do it; it's not easy, but it tires him out, he has to concentrate, and the camaraderie is like a warm bath.  
  
When he gets out in the field, that only intensifies, and he feels he's found acceptance and a place where he fits, just for himself.  
  
  
  
Marrying Ginny is almost the same. He knows she doesn't have his whole heart, but she does have what's left, he thinks. No one else comes even close; if he can't have the one he loves, well, he'd best make do.  
  
The announcement is made, and of course, it's front page in the  _Prophet_. Molly is ecstatic, and wants to make it a double wedding.  
  
  
  
He talks to Hermione. She has, of course, seen that although Harry likes Ginny, it's not love.  
  
"But I think it's as close as I'll ever get, now."  
  
"Why? You could wait - "  
  
"Waiting won't change anything. It's just not in me. It's too late for that."  
  
Hermione peers into his face, troubled, says, "Why? Was there someone?"  
  
"It wouldn't ever have gone anywhere, but - Ginny wants me, I can't think why, but I won't hurt her, and, I guess, we could make a life, a good life for ourselves. Not everyone has their first sweetheart to marry. You guys are so lucky. Just - appreciate it, will you?"  
  
"Oh, Harry, I'm sorry; I never knew. Who was -"  
  
Harry shakes his head, turns away. "It doesn't matter. It never did, actually, it was just me. I want to move on."  
  
"Well, all right. But, does Ginny know?"  
  
"Ah, she knows she doesn't have all my heart, but it's not like anyone's going to come between us."  
  
"Harry, people don't have to be alive to come between a couple."  
  
"It's not - I'm just so tired of trying to do this all on my own. Don't I deserve to have someone, don't I get to try for a family, too?"  
  
"Of course you do, but we're all so young; we have plenty of time. And you're not on your own, we're all trying to help."  
  
"I know, I know. I'm sorry. It's just, sometimes, when Ron kisses you, or Molly welcomes Arthur home, or Bill and Fleur - "  
  
"I don't know, Harry, I just don't know. If you've talked to Ginny, and she's willing to accept it, I don't know what else to suggest. May I tell Ron? He might have some ideas."  
  
Harry laughs, "Now I know you're desperate. Ron have ideas about relationships? I don't want him to go off on me, thinking I'm not taking Ginny, the relationship, seriously. It's just not the same as what you two have got."  
  
"Well, I'll broach it when you're there."  
  
"Oh, great. That way, he can punch me before he hears me out."  
  
"It just depends on how and when we speak to him."  
  
  
  
And Hermione is right, and obviously has Ron's number. Harry has a passing worry for Ron, so easily handled by his not-yet wife. Ron holds a frown while Hermione explains Harry and Ginny's situation, but Harry's swearing he'd never hurt Ginny, and that he's explained but Gin isn't willing to let go, has him scratching his head.  
  
"Well, it sort of sounds like Aunt Agnes and Uncle Bilius, more than anything else. They each had someone die in the run-up to the First War, married for consolation, and lived happily together for 80-odd years. So it's not that strange."  
  
"Actually, I think I have great-grandparents - she lost her childhood sweetheart, they'd gotten engaged, but he died at Ypres. His best mate came back and married her, and they were happy."  
  
Harry looks hopefully between them.  
  
"Maybe it's a common wartime thing? The First World War, there were huge numbers of men killed - whole villages, a generation lost," Hermione continues.  
  
"Well, it sounds as though I've got a fair chance at making a go of it, then. Don't tell your mum and dad, though; I wouldn't like this to be common knowledge."  
  
Ron narrows his eyes, says, "Tonks."  
  
"What?"  
  
"It was Tonks, wasn't it? 'Cause she was already attached to Lupin, but when she got you from the train that time, you were all dozy and muddled."  
  
Harry turns away. He can let Ron believe that, if he wants. The truth would be - difficult.  
  
  
  
  
  
Harry thinks better of having a joint wedding, "You don't want to take all the attention away from your brother and Hermione, do you? Look at the way the engagement was reported, you know how it'll be," he tells Ginny. There's a tiny, lurking hope that, when Snape sees the announcement, jealousy or possessiveness might flush him out of hiding to claim Harry. Because the news is repeated around the world; the  _Prophet_  has a pull-out on how the story has been reported in the  _Salem Inquisitor_ , the  _Macchu Picchu Skyline_ , the  _Ulanbator Bugle_ , the  _Timbuktoo Traveller_ , and all the rest. Ginny cuts them all out and pastes them in a scrapbook, but agrees to postponing the wedding. Molly is saddened, but Harry is firm about not upstaging Ron and Hermione.  
  
The papers have an orgy of speculation about the postponement, and his best friends' wedding is a lovely day rather than a media circus.  
  
Harry sets about extending and altering his home, even imagining that Severus might have died. No news, not a hint or a whisper for well over a year, although he thinks he might have sensed it if the world no longer held a Severus Snape.  
  
* * *  
  
  
Job References  
  
  
Severus knows how to get a job these days. He obtains the goblin-crafted suit of armour from the safehouse Lucius had established when the Dark Lord had returned, claiming it as payment for babysitting Draco. Not that Lucius is likely to notice it's missing, but it salves Severus's conscience slightly, and it's better than having it fall into Ministry hands, as he has no doubt it would. Leaving the rest hidden in one of his own squirrelholes, he takes the greaves and vambraces and makes an appointment at Gringotts. In a shabby back room, he places a vambrace before the goblin he's been assigned. Fangstriker looks at it, running a finger along the goblin-made metal, then stares at him.  
  
"What is it you want?"  
  
"I would like to talk to someone about employment."  
  
The goblin's eyebrows rise, but he merely says, "Wait," and goes out.  
  
The goblin who enters is obviously more senior.  
  
"You wished to apply for work?"  
  
"Yes. This is my reference."  
  
The goblin picks up the vambrace covetously.  
  
"My reference comes in several parts," Severus says, placing the second vambrace down.  
  
"And what employment did you wish to apply for?"  
  
"Work abroad. Cursebreaker would suit. I am experienced."  
  
"I am sure. Is there more to your references? They seem a little - incomplete."  
  
He places the greaves on the table. "The remainder once I'm in work."  
  
"Come, meet our Master-at-Arms."  
  
Severus faces the hardbitten young wizard, a Durmstrang graduate, he believes. He notes the man is muscle-bound, arrogant. Perhaps late 20's. He keeps his eye on the man whilst asking, "The rules of this test?"  
  
The goblin grins nastily; "Survive," he says.  
  
The Master at Arms makes his move, thinking his opponent is distracted by the conversation.  
  
The crack of the man's knee dislocating is very loud in the room.  
  
The binding spell is wordless, and Severus looks at the goblin.  
  
"Do you require further proof?"  
  
"Next test. Follow me."  
  
Severus spares a glance back at the young man and throws a Confundus, seeing the anger and wounded pride.   
  
He does not need more enemies.  
  
The lifting of a curse from an Egyptian papyrus scroll takes an hour, then another two to brew a potion to reveal a further line of hieroglyphs.  
  
He looks up to see the goblin holding up a key.  
  
"You will deposit the rest of the armour in this vault. The key will then Portkey you to the reference indicated. Your wages will be deposited in the side vault. Any discoveries to go in the vault. The key will then take you to your next assignment."  
  
"I would prefer not to go about in Britain."  
  
"Very well; Portkey will take you directly to and from the vault."  
  
The goblin strokes the key, which glows a dull orange, and holds it out.  
  
"What are the wages?" he asks, not caring, but he does not need to put himself at the mercy of the goblins.  
  
"Tenth of a percent of all you bring in. Starting wages."  
  
"Fine. When do I start?"  
  
"When you bring the armour in."  
  
"Tonight?"  
  
"When you bring the armour in."  
  
He is out of the country by the evening.  
  
* * *  
  
  
Treasure Trails  
  
  
He knows, finally, utterly, that he is fated to live his life alone. To tell the truth, he's always known this; it's just that he's been allowed to pretend, very occasionally, that it wasn't so.  
  
Lily - had allowed him to believe he might have friends, or, at least, one friend, for a short while.  
  
Lucius had also allowed him to believe, but for a much shorter time, or perhaps he'd already known by then.  
  
Potter - Harry - Potter -   
  
He would not think of that.  
  
It had been a mistake, one he shouldn't have allowed himself to make.  
  
And now, on the far side of loneliness, he knows what he has to do.  
  
It is no good dwelling on his - feelings - he almost spits the word out to himself.  
  
No, he knows the cure for his sickness.  
  
He leaves the dusty town as soon as he is able, and sets off into the desert wilderness with as much food and water as he can procure.  
  
He has no need of a tent; his cloak will serve him here as well as it has in the dungeons.  
  
Walking deliberately away from the loud, busy streets and alleys, the Notice-Me-Not spell sits easily on him, saving him from annoyance from the cabs and buses bumping along the road.  
  
He could fly, but there is nowhere he needs to be that quickly.  
  
The stony roadside is hard walking, and he shears off towards the distant dun hills as soon as a promising track appears.  
  
Stopping at midday for a drink of water, he feels as if he's bathing in the fierce heat, the silence, the barrenness.  
  
He sits for a while to enjoy it, starting to pick out the small insect sounds hidden in the thundering heat.  
  
The constant chirr, a quick small scuttling, a sigh of sand and dust.  
  
He continues his walk, threading between the rocky outcrops, the dry scrapes of shrubs.  
  
It is two months before he finds the scent of ancient magic hanging on a cliff-face.   
  
* * *  
  
  
The Order  
  
  
"Bloody Kingsley! What's he playing at?"  
  
"What is it?"  
  
"He won't do it! It's not like I ask him for stuff. I don't camp out in his office, asking for things all the time, and one little thing, he can't even put himself out to grant one little thing!"  
  
"This is Snape's Order of Merlin again, isn't it? Harry, let it go. You've asked him - how many times? It isn't going to happen. He'll have his reasons, maybe Dad would know. But let it go, please? I'm so tired of hearing about it, and really, you know, he wasn't very nice -"  
  
"Not very nice? Have you any idea what Snape went through? Have you-"  
  
"Yes, Harry, I have, because you've told me, at great length. You weren't there that year. Now, I've had quite enough of Snape and the war."  
  
"I'm sorry, but I can't just put it aside, as it was such a big part of my life."  
  
"And now, is it still such a big part of your life now? You're about to become a father, perhaps you'd better start thinking about that a bit more, and about me!"  
  
"I know, I know! Aaargh - I just - I can't leave it! You don't understand, you weren't there, I can't -"  
  
Ginny gets up with difficulty, and Harry sees belatedly that she is very angry.  
  
"Well, you'd better start leaving it and concentrate on what's here, and now. I'm going to bed. You can stay here, and think about it."  
  
"Gin?"  
  
But she is already on her way upstairs, and the slam of the bedroom door sounds very final.  
  
He knows he shouldn't upset her, not when she's heavy with their first child, not when her back aches and her feet are swollen and she wants takeaway pizza with anchovies, olives and honey.  
  
The couch stretches to accommodate him, and he makes it up to her the next morning with breakfast in bed and a foot massage, and resolves not to mention his crusade again.  
  
  
  
"Auror Potter. Harry. I don't care how many times you send me this petition, I am NOT bestowing an Order of Merlin on him, living or posthumous. Now, if there isn't anything else ..?"  
  
"But, why? He did as much, if not more than Hermione or Ron, he's never been recognised -"  
  
"As I've told you before, it's simply not politic to acknowledge a former Death Eater in such a way. He got a full pardon - it's not just the war, there's Dumbledore's murder."  
  
"And you know what that was about, you saw my memories."  
  
"Yes, but the public find it hard to grasp these nuances, the mixed loyalties of a spy. They like things clear and simple."  
  
"Well, he certainly wasn't that. But, surely, if I explain?"  
  
"No. Do you seriously think he would want fame and recognition?"  
  
"Well, maybe not, but - "  
  
"Harry. Leave well enough alone. I know you feel guilty. It's understandable, but you should be concentrating more on your wife, your imminent fatherhood."  
  
"Yes, but -"  
  
"No buts. And no more of these requests. Have you put in for paternity leave yet?"  
  
Harry leaves the office frustrated again. He knows that what Kingsley says is true, knows Severus wouldn't show up for a ceremony, but he'd thought it would protect him if it were assumed he was dead. He just knows there's something in Snape that wants, longs for some acknowledgement of all that he went through.  
  
  
  
Ginny gives birth to a baby boy, and Harry falls in love with him the instant he sees him, all black hair, red and wrinkled and bawling.  
  
"James. He's James. James Sirius." He looks for confirmation from Gin.  
  
"James Sirius Potter," she agrees, sweaty, pale, smiling at him holding their child, their boy.  
  
Of course, he's not allowed to hold James for long - Molly takes over, then the rest of the gathered Weasleys, and Harry sits with his wife, holding her hand, thanking her.  
  
The newspapers go mad; there are special editions, and pull-outs of photographs.  
  
* * *  
  
  
Forget-me-not  
  
  
He unpacks the aethenor from its crate, paper and straw scattering across the rug. Suty tsks and grumbles forward to tidy; the delivery-hawk screams and swoops down on a bit of straw. Simon blasts at them both with a loud but harmless spell, then seats himself in the midst of the chaos, sets the still down carefully beside him, and orders, "Mint tea," of Suty. The elf-djinn thrusts out his lower lip, blows a raspberry, and vanishes in a foul-smelling puff of smoke. Returning with the glass, he bows, saying, "Master will allow tidying?"  
  
"Not yet."  
  
He carefully smooths the papers out - the pink ones covered in scrawled sums go into one pile, the newspapers are quickly scanned, front and back, then folded carefully into another pile. He stops at the headline declaring "POTTER FINALLY WED", and scans the article - on-off engagement - several false alarms - private ceremony - witches heartbroken - helpline set up - Warbeck devoting broadcast to love songs - continued on pages 4, 5, 8, 9, 10 and a special pull-out tomorrow. The photo shows a grinning Ginny linking arms with a Potter peering out doubtfully from beneath his hair. They look like they should be in school still. Simon checks the date - almost five months ago. He folds the paper slowly, checks the rest, but the dates are well after this one. So, the boy had taken his admonition to live to heart, and was living his ordinary life. Good. That is precisely why he has done what he has, and he has been proved right. He carefully puts the newspapers away before going out to gaze at the night sky, ignoring Suty's attempts to serve supper. He has no appetite tonight.   
  
* * *  
  
  
He wasn't even gay Pt. 1  
  
  
Again, the news comes in a delivery, of vials carefully wrapped against the vagaries of the delivery-hawk.  
  
He unwraps each glass container, checks the condition of its contents, and sets it into the ingredients chest before smoothing and sorting the papers, as he always does. The pink papers covered in sums - he presumes they are from Gringotts account-keepers. The paper is taken away by Suty for some mysterious purpose, he never inquires. The Djinn-elf knows not to touch the newspaper now, not until he is specifically told he may. There is the usual news about Ministry edicts, foreign emissaries, social fluff. The headline which catches his eye this time is 'BOY FOR BOY-WHO-LIVED'. He startles - perhaps the marriage was a mistake? Is this maybe a rethink - but he reads on to find the Potters have produced offspring, to be named James Sirius, no less. He sneers - well, it didn't take long for the boy to move on; there is no doubt about this news. Mercifully, the promise of further pages of eulogising is not fulfilled, and there is only the picture of Potter holding a small wrapped bundle from which protrudes a tiny fist.  
  
It sets the seal on his decision. Harry's marriage, well, that came so soon after he left that it might have been on the rebound. But this - Harry's obviously getting on with his life, he's making a success of the marriage, and he probably sees the whole episode with Snape as a terrible mistake, if he even thinks of it at all. So he was right, he was right to leave, to force the boy to think again. It was obviously the closeness of death, the desperate situation they'd both found themselves in.  
  
He picks up the paper and folds the photo of Harry tucking the waving fist back, looking up, startled and wide-eyed and very vulnerable, folds it and files it into the journal he carries, in the back with the other clippings.  
  
There is no reason to keep them, but it's a fancy of his.  
  
Every once in a while, he pulls them out, looks at them.  
  
It's like poking at a hole in your tooth, or rubbing a bruise, or an old scar.  
  
It reminds him of what he must avoid.  
  
He feels guilt for the death of Lily, for the orphaning of Potter.  
  
If he hadn't been so besotted with Lily, if she hadn't been on his mind so much, perhaps Voldemort would never have thought to look for that boy; then, the Longbottom boy would have borne Voldemort's wrath and none of the subsequent train of events would have happened.  
  
He cannot imagine he would have connected with the Longbottom boy, and Harry wouldn't have been as he was, and he could have lived his life longing hopelessly for Lily.  
  
This is useless, maudlin speculation, because it was not what had happened.  
  
Christ, the boy wasn't even gay.  
  
He takes another drink of the arak and suddenly his black mood, his vision, is poisoned with a rainbow kaleidoscope of tears. He curses and hurls the bottle at the wall.  
  
He will not seek solace in alcohol again.  
  
* * *  
  
  
Lily  
  
  
The alley, shining with rain, echoes their footsteps. Danny, his new partner, is darting forward, wand to hand, proud to be working with Potter, when the curse sends him tumbling to the ground. Harry glimpses his white face, eyes wide with surprise, as he dashes past, firing Protego and a cunning little binding curse Severus taught him - no, don't think of that now. He hurdles the two wizards bound and cursing impotently and scans the far end of the alley. A young witch is crouched cowering behind a dustbin.   
  
"Are you hurt?" he asks, moving quickly forward. He sees the subtle movement in time to ward off the stunner and bind her, too, before calling for backup and a medic for Danny.  
  
Kneeling by Danny in the rain, assuring him he'd be alright, trying to remember if he'd got a wife? A girlfriend, maybe? Ron would know, Ron always remembers those things. Danny looks so young, lying pale and frightened, and Harry suddenly sees his own father lying dead, his mother lying dead, himself a baby alone in the house that is half-destroyed from Voldemort's curse.  
  
No more. He won't let James grow up without a father.  
  
His request for transfer from front-line Auror service is submitted on his return to the office that night.  
  
  
  
He moves to the training department and, though there is less excitement, he comes home at a regular time to watch James, and soon enough, Albus and Lily, growing up. He can never get enough of the children, he'd stay at home all the time with them. Ginny tells him he spoils them, and that it's good for them to be over at Molly's or in the crèche with other children and not just sitting at home. Ginny wants to get out of the house and back to work; she tells him it's mind-numbing, and now she's missed her chance at playing Quidditch, she needs to think about other careers.  
  
"I mean, look at Hermione - what is she now?"  
  
"We don't know, and even if she told us, we wouldn't know," Harry says wearily.  
  
"But she's had two kids, and she's still moving up in the Ministry."  
  
"Yes, and I don't think she ever sleeps. Don't know how Ron manages."  
  
"But she's made something of herself. I haven't done anything with my life."  
  
"I don't call having three children nothing,"  
  
"But anyone can have children!"  
  
"I can't."  
  
"Yes, well, you would if you could. Three is quite enough. I really don't want to turn into my mum."  
  
"What, are we not going to try for twins?"  
  
She hits him. "Right, that's it. We're not doing anything that might result in any more children."  
  
He sighs. "What sort of thing were you thinking of doing, anyway?"  
  
"Well, if you don't know, how did we wind up having the three we've got?"  
  
"Very funny. No, I meant, job-wise?"  
  
"I don't know. The only thing I really went for, I couldn't do now, anyway."  
  
"I hope you weren't thinking of trialling for the Harpies again. You're good at organising, and talking to people."  
  
"I was good at charms and hexes, once, too."  
  
"Hmm. Let me see what's coming up at work."  
  
"I'm not going to be an Auror, we've enough of them in the family!"  
  
"No? Don't want to work for me, or Ron?"  
  
"No way!"  
  
"Have a word with Percy, maybe?"  
  
"I don't want to work for him, either."  
  
"I know, I know. Nor your father. Let me ask around."  
  
They've had this conversation before. Harry's not yet found the job that would suit her, though he's had feelers out for awhile. He's known Lils will be their last child, and Ginny will go up the walls if she doesn't find something to channel her energies into.   
  
Then, when Lily is almost four, the Quidditch World Cup is held in Scotland, and Harry persuades Percy to hire Ginny as foreign liaison.  
  
Molly takes on much of the after school care until Harry gets home, and he loves the long evenings with the children, schoolwork and games, bedtime stories and breakfasts. Ginny spends a lot of time on site, coming back at odd times during the week. Weekends see her Portkeying around the various teams in the quarter-, then the semi-finals. She's loving it, and is proving to be excellent at the job.  
  
  
  
Harry turns up to Sunday lunch at the Burrow with the children again.   
  
"Uncle Ron! Will you take me flying?" Jamie is quick to ask.   
  
"How's it feel, being a Quidditch widow?" Ron jokes. Harry snorts, lifts Lily up out of the way of Hugo and Rose on their toy brooms.  
  
Arthur and Molly take him and the younger two inside. As soon as Al sees Bill, he's off to pester him for stories about his time as a curse-breaker. Lily solemnly tells him, "I need to go help Gran'ma now."  
  
"Are you alright?" Arthur asks.  
  
"Fine," he says, gazing over at Al fondly.  
  
"It's not too much for you? We'd love to have the children over more, if you wanted."  
  
"Oh, no - it's the best part of the week, being home with them."  
  
"Ah, I just meant, if you maybe wanted to meet up with Ginny?"  
  
"I'd only get in her way. It's all meetings, and news conferences - just the sort of thing I try to avoid. She loves it, though," he adds hastily.  
  
Arthur looks at him for a long moment, but then lunch is being served, and everyone is bustling about.  
  
  
  
Later, when they're home, and he's put the kids to bed, sitting in front of his window looking out over the meadow down to the river, the willows, he thinks that perhaps Arthur meant something different. Ginny's hardly home at all, and she seems to be in a tearing hurry when she is, with little time to sit and talk. If there's someone else, he decides he doesn't want to know. And it still might just be the excitement of the job, the feeling that finally she's more than just a mother and the wife of the Boy-Who-Lived.  
  
* * *  
  
  
He wasn't even gay Pt.2 - Sev  
  
  
"Boy Who Knew How To Live!" screams the  _Prophet_  headline Simon has smoothed from its role of cushioning his latest delivery of ingredients. "He was a real romantic – his favourite thing was to curl up in front of a roaring fire with me."   
  
Simon sneers as the  _Prophet_  reporter hints at other possible partners – "since Ginevra Potter divorced our hero, Mr. Potter has been seeking consolation in the company of a number of young ladies ..." – who, presumably, were more discreet than this one.  
  
The divorce is a surprise, but Potter finding plenty of volunteers to console him is not.  
  
"Tea," he snaps at Suty, and finishes reading the piece before tucking it away carefully. It is months old, and he has to prepare for his new apprentice.  
  
How he agreed to this, he still isn't sure.  
  
  
  
The local controller arrives just before the dust-storm with a sharp-looking lad.  
  
Mo introduces the boy, who holds out his hand.  
  
Simon sneers, stares at him until the boy drops his eyes.  
  
"Hogwarts?"  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
"House?"  
  
"Ravenclaw, sir."  
  
"You will remain on this placement for a fortnight or until the desert claims you, whichever occurs soonest."   
  
Mo tries to intervene, but Simon waves him aside.  
  
"This placement is at great inconvenience to myself, so I would suggest you attempt to glean as much knowledge from it as you are capable of absorbing. The desert is unforgiving, and any disobedience of my instructions will see you on your way back to Gringotts London in whatever condition you may find yourself. The last candidate was sent back in a very small box."  
  
"Y-yes, sir."  
  
"Your things will go into that corner of the tent, along with yourself. See that they do not intrude upon the rest of this space. Anything outside of that area is off limits to you, unless expressly invited by me."  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
Having ensured as much obedience as Simon gauges the boy capable of, he turns to business with Mo. The thin packet, containing his Gringotts statement and one or two new leads, as well as his apprentice's folder, goes on his desk, and Mo stops outside the tent to say, "Look after him; he's someone's child."  
  
"They always are, aren't they?"   
  
* * *  
  
  
He wasn't even gay Pt 3 - Harry  
  
  
Harry is pushing Lils's trunk towards Platform 9 ¾. Al is trailing behind, trying to look as though he's not with them. Jamie is waving the  _Prophet_  around, alternately clapping Harry on the shoulder in laddish humour and calling out particular phrases of the overblown report to Al.  
  
".. 'enjoyed cooking for me in very little but an apron' – is that true, dad?"  
  
"Jamie, that's enough."  
  
"But, dad, this is great; no one else's parents do anything more exciting than have firewhisky in their bedtime cocoa on Saturday night."  
  
Ginny arrives all in a rush as Harry spots the upswept magenta hairdo of the Skeeter woman by the pillar, but Al has already prodded Lily forward, and she links arms with Jamie, murmuring in his ear. He glances over, nodding, and quietens, giving his mother a hug in greeting. They all move through to the platform, surrounding Harry, brushing the photographer aside.  
  
The commotion of leave-takings, mislaid pets, last-minute instructions, and a few hugs and tears gets them through what might have been an awkward moment, but, Harry thinks, they never are awkward together. Even when they'd discussed divorce, they'd been on good terms mostly.   
  
  
  
Ginny touches his arm as they're waving goodbye to the Hogwarts Express. The crowds still stare at Harry, but Gin draws him into the bright Muggle café by the platforms.  
  
"Are you alright?"  
  
"Well, apart from Jamie reading the article out to practically the whole of Kings Cross – no. I'm ok."  
  
She gazes worriedly at him, biting her lip.  
  
"Look, you can't check out my potential girlfriends for publicity hunters."  
  
"Well, actually, I probably could, but no. I think that would be pretty strange."  
  
"I just can't understand how anyone would do that." He slumps over his coffee.  
  
"As you said, publicity hunting. Are the kids ok with it all?"  
  
"Jamie thinks it's a big joke, Al's thoroughly embarrassed. Lily just keeps them both in line."  
  
"They'll live. It'll blow over in a week at the most. Do you want to come over to the Burrow for a bit?"  
  
"No. There's no point. As you say, it'll blow over."  
  
"I could have a word with the editor of the  _Prophet_ …"  
  
"I doubt it's worth it. Let it go, they'll get tired of it at some point, I guess."  
  
* * *  
  
  
Charming  
  
  
Al's NEWTs are as good as his OWLs foretold, and unsurprisingly, he applies for a job with Gringotts straight away.   
  
"I've applied to use an alias, but the goblins couldn't care less that I'm your son; I suspect they made it harder for me to get in because of that, actually."  
  
"Ah. That might have been because of the incident with the dragon."  
  
Ron and Bill burst out laughing, and the story of their break-in and out of Gringotts has to be retold.  
  
"Whoa! Hey, I bet the  _Prophet_  would pay well for that story!" Jamie chortles.  
  
"Have they got more dragons in the vaults? I think that it's dreadfully cruel of them."  
  
"It's ok, Lils; they got rid of them after that. You'll have to find out what they put in, in place of them, just in case your dad fancies a return to bank-breaking," Bill says.  
  
They're all sitting out under the trees, celebrating Al's graduation and the start of summer.  
  
Harry relaxes in the warmth and acceptance of his family. Even the divorce hadn't made his welcome here cooler, although Ron had been protective of his sister until Hermione had told him Ginny was fully capable of telling off Harry if that was what she wanted to do.  
  
But Harry and Ginny's relationship has become what, once Harry had time and space to think about it, it probably should have been right through.  
  
He's more worried about James, even though Gin says he'll find himself.  
  
Percy says Jamie has all the women in the Ministry running after him, his work all done by them. A different girlfriend each time he comes home or to the Burrow, yet he's never featured on the  _Prophet's_  front page.   
  
* * *  
  
  
Mad Muggle Men  
  
  
Harry hesitates outside the brightly lit foyer; Hedonism seems to be living up to its name. Most of the men going in are dressed smartly, well-cut suits and close-fitting shirts seem to be the norm. A few of the younger ones are rejected by the two large bouncers for being too scruffy, but the young man in artistically torn t-shirt and jeans is allowed in. Harry knows it's because the boy moves with the entitled grace Draco used to display, as well as having the beauty of a David.  
  
A quick alteration to his dress means he's waved through as one of the older men with money.  
  
The place is just as mind-numbingly noisy and strobe-lit as it was during the raid that opened his eyes to this side of Muggle London. He'd been drafted in as advisor on the Aurors' blending in to the Muggle club where young lads had been disappearing, and had gone along on the entrapment raid as backup. That night, they'd packed the club with as many Aurors as they could, and caught five wizards. Tonight, he was here alone, but not for long. A young lad approached him, and Harry recoiled. The boy looked very like Al, and Harry nearly turned and ran. A large dark body stood before him as he turned, however.  
  
"Not interested in the chickens?" a deep voice rumbled in his ear.  
  
The man was tall, solidly built, and smiled lopsidedly.  
  
Harry relaxed; this was more like what he was hoping he might find.  
  
"Drink?" the man's mouth was right beside his ear, warm breath tickling.  
  
Harry shivered and nodded.  
  
He was steered to the bar, then his companion led him to a darkened but, thankfully, less noisy room.  
  
"Bit better, yeah?"  
  
Harry nearly head-butted the man, nodding as he moved in for a kiss.  
  
"Um. Sorry – I'm Harry."  
  
"Ben. You new on the scene? Haven't seen you before."  
  
"Just moved to London," Harry lied.  
  
The man tipped his chin up to capture his mouth, but the hand that dove straight to his groin made Harry flinch and pull away.  
  
"Bit skittish, aren't you?" the man grumbled, moving in again.  
  
Harry's wand cast a mild Confundus, and he slid out of the room, and out of the club.  
  
  
  
At home alone again, he soberly knows it's no good.  
  
There's still only one person he wants to kiss, and be kissed by.   
  
* * *  
  
  
Al Post

> Hi Dad - I'm settled in at Aunt Hermy's - she added a nice room that looks over the Alley, so I wake up when the shops start opening. She says it saves on getting me an alarm call. I ran into Jamie last night. I'm getting on well with the guys in my group, there's only a couple from Hogwarts, and two gorgeous girls from Beauxbatons - I made a fool of myself the first week, but it's wearing off a bit now. There's two Peruvian guys, though, who can't be in the same room as them. It's hilarious. I've got a head start on most everyone in Potions, but there's a wicked Durmstrang guy whose curses are bad! I got talking with him, and we're going to swap tutoring each other. We're doing Defence together as well - the guy teaching it is a sadist. I am so glad I'm here under an alias; I reckon it's saved me a world of bother. Is Mum serious about that Loomis guy? See you next weekend!

  


> Hi Dad - This is just so much better than school. I'm loving it. Pavel and I have been joined by Mara, who's wicked at Arithmancy/Spellcasting combos. Well, she's actually brilliant at anything combos. The three of us are smashing the rest of the class - loads of those drecks are competing with each other, some of them are just competing for Eloise and Beatrix, who completely ignore everyone except Trapper, the psycho Defence instructor. He's had a chunk knocked out of his leg, and I swear, it landed on his shoulder. Mental guy. Pavel thinks one of his cousins went to Durmstrang with him. Mum is serious about Kardais - Jamie asked her. Could you do me a favour and tell Jamie I'm not gay? The first cull is next week, so I'd better get my head down. Bye!

  


> Hi Dad - We aced it! They're letting the three of us work on a project together, and everyone else got paired off. Eloise got put with the dorkiest guy in the class; his glasses are so thick, I don't think he's realised yet that she's female, much less a half-Veela! Well, at least they have a chance of completing their project - Marcus - Ravenclaw keeper, you remember, got paired with Phyllida, who's as Slytherin as they come, and they can't stand each other. Mind you, we've got double the project of anyone else. Still, it should look good when we're getting our placements. Wish Bill was still in the field. I'm seeing Mum next weekend, think the Kardais guy is going to be around. She's still going on at me about Mara; can you tell her we're just friends? And can you tell Jamie Pavel and I are just friends? See you soon. PS - Marcus and Phyllida both are out of the course.

  


> Hi Dad - We've had a shedload of info about placements, most of them are one-to-one, and there's one I'd really like to go for. I think we'll all try for it, but the guy who tutors it is really strict. He's meant to be the absolute best, but a complete hermit - never hits town, just works all the time. Bet you can't guess - it's Egypt! I wish Bill was still in the field, but this guy, Evans, is a legend. I'll be sorry to leave here, but this job - it's going to be absolutely ace! I could be sent anywhere on the globe! Anyway, we've got to get the applications for placements in by the end of this week, so we're going to sit down and work them out. Mara's produced a chart of pros and cons. Who does that remind you of?

  


> Dad - I GOT EGYPT!!!! I'll be home on the weekend to sort out my stuff. Pavel's going to Benin, and Mara isn't saying. But I saw Aunt Hermy and Lily sitting with her in the Leaky a week ago, so I think she's been poached. Would you please tell Mum there isn't anything between Mara and me? We haven't been going out, we are not engaged, and we're not going to get married. And could you please tell Jamie the same thing about me and Pavel?

  
  
* * *  
  
  
Return to Hogwarts  
  
  
Professor McGonagall welcomes Harry, and takes him to a small room herself.  
  
"I've put Professor Dumbledore's Pensieve here; I thought that you might wish to be private when you viewed the memories."  
  
Harry glances around; there are no portraits or paintings, no tapestries or armour in this room. It is a plain stone chamber with a narrow bed and a narrow window overlooking the lake.   
  
"Thank you. I'm not sure how long I'll be –"  
  
"Take as long as you need, my boy. If you wish to talk anything over, I'll be in my office. Otherwise –" she gestures largely – "Hogwarts is at your service."  
  
  
  
Mipsy appears with food once McGonagall leaves, and Harry spends some time chewing thoughtfully, remembering without the aid of the Pensieve.  
  
* * *  
  
  
  
The Man in the Pensieve  
  
  
His arrival and sorting – he's astonished at how small and timid he looks, how undernourished. He's half a head shorter than most of the others. He looks up at the Head Table and watches Snape observing him. Snape's eyes follow him into the Great Hall, and follow him to Gryffindor table. He sees the moment he realises Snape is watching him, but also sees, now, with hindsight, that Quirrell's turned his head and the back of the turban is pointing straight at him. He sees his young self flinch and misinterpret the moment.  
  
And so it goes through the memories – he and Ron, and latterly Hermione, getting into dangers he now sees as mad; Snape cursing and spitting, furious, desperate, but always there. If his children had gotten into but one of the 'adventures' he's watched himself perform, he thinks he would have hurled the headmaster from the Astronomy Tower himself. He watches Snape being stretched thin from the demands placed on him by his roles and wonders that the man doesn't go crazy. And then, he watches those final days before the final battle. Snape now has a manic look about him, frantic and at the end of his endurance. Young Harry, too, is fraught, and they cling together desperately, wringing the final sweet drops from life. It's obvious from Harry's viewpoint now that they both knew at some level that they would die. And in the Hospital Wing, he sees the effort it costs Snape to send him away.  
  
  
  
Harry pulls his face from the Pensieve, his cheeks wet.  
  
"You stupid, stubborn sod. Why couldn't you just have let us carry on?"   
  
But Harry knows the answer, can see it in the man-boy standing before Severus, trembling, fighting the tears back, then turning and walking away stiff-backed as he weeps. He wasn't ready then. He wasn't ready for Snape, he wasn't ready for Ginny, he wasn't ready for life. And Snape had thought - it's obvious by how he almost absorbs Harry, absorbs the experience of loving, is watching Harry and storing all the minutiae - Snape had known that he or Harry, that possibly he and Harry would die. And had based those few days on that assumption. Harry now knows that isn't how life is lived, but he hadn't known then. He'd known nothing then. And he suspects Severus had known very little of relationships and of loving and living, either. When he reviews the early memories in that light, he can see how the whole thing looks different.  
  
Minerva says he's spent three days in that room. Harry thinks he must find Severus again, that maybe now, they might be friendly, they might be able to have a conversation, to enjoy each other's company. At a very wild remote, they might have sex - no. He's not thinking that; not hoping for that, but he does want to see the man, reassure himself that Snape is alright, and not wanting for anything.   
  
* * *  
  
  
Albert and Simon  
  
  
Simon looks out of the raised tentflap at the crack of Apparition.  
  
The slight figure, wavering in the heat haze, strides towards the tent beside the bulky station controller.  
  
Mo ducks under the flap, nods, and says, "Simon, this is Albert Evans. A relation, perhaps? I trust you will look after him well."  
  
Severus has a moment of unreality wash over him, before he can gather his defences and reason reasserts. The boy - he's only a boy. And he's not that boy, but so very nearly -  
  
The young man is holding out his hand, looking quizzically at him.  
  
"Mr. Evans. I'm so glad to meet you. Thank you for accepting me for this placement."  
  
He can see the differences now - the boy is taller, but not by much, and the mouth is different. The eyes are green, crinkled with laugh-lines, and open, forthright, uncomplicated. And green. Almost the same green, but not quite. And there are no glasses.   
  
Severus closes his eyes, knowing he's been staring at the boy, shakes the outstretched hand, busies himself with the minutiae of social interaction. Orders tea from the djinn-elf. Takes the parcel of post - very thin, as ever - from Mo. Avoids looking at the boy. Avoids staring.  
  
Mo chatters about goings-on at the station, as though he has ever expressed any interest in such things. The boy is quiet, but interjects a comment occasionally.  
  
Severus pretends to find the letter from Gringotts, tallying his finds and the rewards he's received, as well as his salary, fascinating, requiring careful study.  
  
Finally, after a blur of tea, conversational inanities, and shuffling stores about, Mo takes his leave.  
  
"Look after this one, Simon. I know, I know; you always do, but this one - I think he's special, yes?"  
  
"Of course; they all are special to someone."  
  
But this one, this one is truly special, and he curses his fates again.  
  
When he goes back into the tent, he feels the boy's eyes on him, but the boy is silent.  
  
Snape gestures to the back of the tent, towards a rolled pallet. "That is your area. You will keep your possessions there. This is my part of the tent. You will not go near anything here, or touch anything here. This is the most conversation you will hear from me. I do not appreciate idle chatter. If you cannot abide by these few simple rules, you will be leaving."  
  
"Alright."  
  
He looks at the boy sharply, expecting annoyance, rebellion, sulking, but sees nothing but calm acceptance.  
  
  
  
Severus is irritated by Al, but also drawn to him.  
  
Al is quiet, conscientious, and talks about potions with a real love.  
  
Al is also reckless, over-confident, and irritatingly cheerful.  
  
He seems to accept and ignore Severus's bad moods with an ease that speaks of long familiarity with brooding men.  
  
He takes no offence at Severus snapping and sniping at him, retaining his good humour and doing the tasks set to him with a will.  
  
Severus does not bait him, he offers only the tutoring required and absents himself from the tent for as much time as he dares.  
  
Returning at midnight from a scouting trip, Severus finds a scroll left half-complete, and before he can stop himself, scans it.  
  
"Dad - the training is great - you wouldn't believe some of the stuff Simon's teaching me - the curse-breaking and weird animals here - djinn-elves and camelopards and werehyaenas and mummies, but best of all, he's really into potions research! Everyone else on the station, and Mara, is dead jealous. He's a bit sad, sort of like you get sometimes, but that's ok. I think I may be annoying him - you know how you keep telling me I'm not invulnerable? Anyway, I'll write Mum a nice reassuring letter - love to Lils and take care of yourself. Al.   
  
Severus sighs, letting the parchment roll back up.  
  
  
  
Al can feel the old magic; he's almost as sensitive to it as Severus. Once he's been shown a few examples, they can work as a team, sending sparks up when they find anything. The first few times, Al finds the already-cleared spots Severus has set him to, and passes the set tests. Once they're searching for real, however, Severus arrives to find Al beginning the dismantling of curses.  
  
"You are not yet capable of dealing with what you may find. Wait until I arrive."  
  
"OK, no problem."  
  
And Al waits, the next two times.  
  
The tomb the boy tries to open on his own, the time after, has a trigger releasing a sleeping gas.  
  
When Severus arrives to see the boy crumpled to the ground with the sands already starting to cover him, his heart stops. He doesn't wait to analyse the emotion that causes him to draw the boy up into his arms and Apparate back to the tent, hovering over him until he revives.  
  
"You little imbecile! Next time you start dismantling curses without waiting, I shall leave you there for the desert to claim you."  
  
"Hmph. What was that? I'd just brought down the first locking spell -"  
  
"Without stopping to check if anything was tied to its dropping. You were unconscious and the sands were taking you. A schoolboy error."  
  
"Sorry. I checked for other spells - "  
  
"Not sorry enough. You did not check for mechanical traps. You can stay here and design five different mechanical triggers, while I go back and make the area safe."  
  
Al grimaces, but gets parchment and quill.  
  
He is subdued for a day, and the traps he designs are inventive, although Severus will not tell him so.  
  
A week passes before Al slides down a crevasse and falls into a tomb. He sends up his sparks dutifully, but can't resist looking around while he waits.  
  
  
  
Al can't help getting into trouble - he's got a second sense about finding old magic.  
  
"I am sending you back to base."  
  
"What? No, please – I did wait this time –"  
  
"No. No more. I have had quite enough of your recklessness and bravado."  
  
Al turns away, eyes shut, mouth drawn, looking so like another boy – he's only a boy, way too young. As if the other boy had not been …  
  
"Away. Now. I do not wish to see you again. I will send your things after you."  
  
Simon sends the message to Mo, to expect the boy.  
  
Al, trudging off, takes his time in saying goodbye to the desert, to the end of his dreams. The colours, the silence, being out here alone – perhaps he might still be allowed to take another placement. He knows other apprentices who've not lasted a full placement; particularly, so the rumours go, with Simon. Maybe – maybe there's still a chance, and when he looks up, he spots the traces, very faint, but they're there. Maybe, if he brings in a treasure, things won't look quite so bad on his record? The goblins, after all, are not concerned with the training as such, but in how successful you are. He is busily checking, dismantling protections, following the trace into the hillside. This one feels like it might be a big one – when it all goes dark.  
  
Once Simon gets back to the tent, after a cup of tea, he is calmer, and starts gathering Al's things.  
  
The brazier flames up, and he turns, with a terrible premonition which Mo's worried face only heightens.  
  
"He's not with you, is he?"  
  
"No."  
  
Simon drops the books and starts out again, rapping over his shoulder, "Let his father know. Now!"  
  
  
  
It seems to take forever to find Al. The sands are slithering in to the entrance the boy has excavated, and that small movement is finally the clue Simon needs. But the boy is pale, and Simon carefully scans the surroundings, noting the dismantled protections – and the ones that still remain. He curses, briefly and colourfully, before sending up the locator flare. There are too many variables here to bring the boy out alone in the state he's in.  
  
* * *  
  
  
Riddle of the Sands  
  
  
Harry receives the message about Al as he's going out to lunch.  
  
"For me?" He scratches the small owl who's clamped onto his shoulder as he steps into the Muggle street, ignoring the curious stare from the traffic warden.  
  
The note simply says, 'Albert Evans dismissed from apprenticeship Gringotts sub-branch Quseer, currently missing', and Harry turns straight back around. To get a Portkey to Quseer is a matter of minutes, and he's on his way. He's been thinking about visiting Al for a few days, and the note is worrying. He knows how much Al's looked forward to the placement, and every letter back has been full of excitement and enthusiasm, not least for his mysterious namesake 'Simon'. The sight of the station controller coming towards him, worried and sweating in the midday heat, is not reassuring, and Harry spots the locator flare going up. He Apparates before the controller can say a word, and finds himself standing shoulder to shoulder with a tall dark wizard, firing spells to keep off the shapes advancing out of the gloom of a deep cave.   
  
"Stunners and repelling spells only," a familiar voice growls, and Harry takes a second to glance down at Al before resuming his defence.  
  
The creatures gradually retreat from the barrage of red and purple flashes, and the sand itself soughs from around Al. Harry feels as though he is back in the Pensieve, except this time, even more is at stake.   
  
Once there is enough room, a protective spell allows Harry to drop to Al's side, to try to revive him. The other wizard seals the cave, marking and warding it tightly shut.   
  
Al's eyelids flutter open, then his eyes go wide, seeing his father there.   
  
"Oh, no – Dad – I'm sorry – Mr. Evans – I'm so very sorry – I didn't mean to – oh, no, no, no …"  
  
Al is looking between them, but they have not looked at each other.  
  
Mo arrives with a pair of medi-wizards, and all is bustle and chaos around the very still quiet of the two men.   
  
Al is glancing between his father and his mentor as he is carried off to the hospital.   
  
"You will come to the branch office? The medical facility is there," Mo says to Harry as they move Al away.  
  
Then, the two of them are left in the stillness of the heated desert.   
  
Simon starts walking back to the camp, and Harry walks beside him, still silent.  
  
The djinn-elf produces tea and small cups, pours, glancing warily between the men.  
  
Simon sinks gracefully down to sit cross-legged on the cushions, and Harry piles up some cushions to lean against.   
  
* * *  
  
  
Again  
  
  
The stillness, the quiet in the tent, is stifling.  
  
..."Wow, Dad, this guy - he's something else!"...  
  
He won't look at Severus.  
  
He reminds himself - Al is of age. It's none of his business.  
  
He has no hold over this man.  
  
On the other hand ..."Don't get upset or worry, Dad, and don't tell Mum, but I nearly got eaten by a werehyaena pack today. If it hadn't been for Simon turning up -"...  
  
"I believe I need to thank you for saving my son's life. Several times," he mutters stiffly to his hands.  
  
After a slight hesitation, "I have come to the conclusion that it is my role in life, to be rescuing Potters," Severus answers, just as stiffly.  
  
Why had he thought, if he ever met the man again, that he could do this?  
  
He feels his heart pounding, blood rushing - it is as bad as it was twenty-six years ago.  
  
"Potters and Evanses, eh?" He turns to go outside, to get away, to go anywhere but here, where he can feel the man's eyes on him, where he can feel the cool untroubled gaze weighing him, noting the changes, perhaps wondering what he'd ever seen there, maybe not even remembering -  
  
"Harry, - "  
  
The one word is enough, and he flees.  
  
He doesn't stop when Snape calls out, he marches blindly out into the singeing heat, avoiding rocks and thorny dry brush by luck and instinct, as he can't see.  
  
He stumbles on, putting distance between himself and the ruin of all he's held dear, all he's kept close and never let out.  
  
A dry riverbed leads him into an arroyo, far enough away, he thinks, to allow himself to let go.  
  
The magic smashes rocks, causes a small landslip on one face of the narrow canyon, sends dust spiralling up into the coppery sky with his cry of anguish.  
  
"Are you quite finished?"  
  
He whirls at the man's voice, wand sliding into his hand and the curse nearly leaving his lips.  
  
Snape doesn't move, the black eyes watchful, wary.  
  
"Your son, Mr. Potter, has been taken back to the station for medical evaluation."  
  
He nods, wipes his hand across his face, hoping Snape will mistake the wet smears for sweat.  
  
The black eyes narrow. "What is the reason for this outburst?"  
  
"You don't want to know, Snape."  
  
"I go by the name of Simon Evans now, and I would not have asked, if I didn't wish to know."  
  
"Yeah, and Al was Albert Evans. Did everyone think he was a relation? Your son, maybe? "  
  
"Evans is a fairly common name, so, no, he was not thought to be related to me."  
  
"Well, good. I suppose that avoided any awkward questions, then."  
  
"I have no idea what you are imagining. You appear to have created a scenario in your mind - what has Mr. Evans been writing you?"  
  
"Oh, nothing much, just how you are a legend amongst the treasurehunters, how lucky he was to get this placement - "  
  
"He is a skilled and powerful young man -"  
  
"- how you keep rescuing him - "  
  
" - if almost as reckless as his father - "  
  
" - how much he admires you, how amazing you are - "  
  
"Potter!"  
  
Harry stops, his eyes jerking up to glance at the dark figure before sliding away to the safety of the landscape.  
  
"Potter, I am not - you have imagined your son and I - no. I don't know what the boy has written you, but if he has indicated anything other than a professional relationship, then he is deluding himself."  
  
"Deluding himself - as I did?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"I deluded myself, didn't I? I thought - what we had -"  
  
He shakes his head, turns away.  
  
"You'd better go. I'm only about to make even more of a fool of myself, and I'd rather you didn't see that."  
  
The sigh he hears is much too close.  
  
"Potter - Harry - you surely can't still - "  
  
He turns angrily, the hot tears welling again, feeling as out of control as the boy he was then.  
  
"Well, I do, still! You aren't the only one who can nurse a passion for years, against all hope and sense. Now, please! Just let me have a bit of time; I'll come back to the camp -"  
  
"Harry. Don't move, but slide your wand out, very slowly."  
  
The voice is low, very even; Snape is looking past his shoulder. When he glances to Snape's side, he sees the dusty grey slinking shapes, soundless, yellow eyes focused on them, yellow fangs glistening.  
  
His wand is ready in his hand.  
  
He feels the cool wash of a spell over him; Snape has cast something soundlessly, and he counts the circling bodies he can see - too many.  
  
"When I say, step towards me," Snape mutters, not taking his eyes off the pack.  
  
"Now!"  
  
Harry steps into Snape's encircling arm and is gathered and lifted into the air as the pack turn in to attack.  
  
Harry glances down to see the snarling melee below, then looks up into the black eyes, intense for a moment before they shutter cool and distant.  
  
"Werehyaenas. A nick from a fang, and you'd be roaming the desert for the rest of your life with that pack."  
  
Harry sighs, "Well, now I know what I'm thanking you for saving my son from."  
  
Snape lowers them to the ground outside the tent, steps away.  
  
"I would imagine you will wish to go to Albert now." He turns, looking off to the distant rocks, and Harry gets the impression he is uncomfortable.  
  
"I will not hold you accountable for anything you said - "  
  
Harry moves to him to place a hand on his arm.  
  
"I meant every word. I need to go see Al, yes. But I'm coming back. Don't disappear." He turns back before Apparating to the control centre. "Please?"   
  
* * *  
  
  
Scirocco  
  
  
Al stares at him as he strides across the cool, high-ceilinged room.  
  
He gathers his son into a close, rough embrace, amazed at how broad Al's shoulders have gotten, inhaling the antiseptic hospital smell overlaying heated sand, and far beneath, the trace of Al - Al from London, Al from Platform 9 3/4, Al from bedtime stories and skinned knees, Al from his cot, sleepy with milk.  
  
"Dad? You alright?"  
  
"Sorry, son. We ran into some were-hyenas," he says gruffly, releasing the young man, letting his hand caress the hair his boy has grown out long.  
  
"You know Simon, don't you?"  
  
"Yes. Long ago."  
  
"You - I thought he was going to explode when you turned up - I've never seen him so close to losing it!"  
  
"It was during the war. We - fought together."  
  
"Yeah? You never said."  
  
"I knew him under a different name."  
  
"Oh. Oh!"  
  
"Don't say anything, not a word. He had reasons, just as you did when you signed on to Gringotts as Albert Evans."  
  
Al stares at him a moment longer, then nods. "But, it is - my middle name?"  
  
Harry nods, then passes his forefinger over Al's lips.  
  
Al nods again, his eyes bright.  
  
"Wow, Dad, I didn't know you were that cool!"  
  
Harry shakes his head. How could the history lessons, the stories Ron tells when they all descend on the Burrow, the newspaper articles every anniversary of Voldemort's defeat, have passed his son by?  
  
The Healer glides in with a couple of potions - "Only precautionary, Mr. Evans" - and Harry leaves Al to sink into sleep.  
  
  
  
The heat outside is easing as dusk moves over the scrubby bushes, and Harry stops to think for a moment.  
  
He can go and see Severus again.  
  
For the first time in years, nothing is stopping him, nothing but his worry about his reception.  
  
But there is no one he can discuss this with, there never has been.  
  
And his strength, he knows, has never been in planning out each step, but in plunging in and letting himself react.  
  
If Severus has no wish to see him again, he has no doubt that either he won't find the camp, or that he will be coldly rebuffed.  
  
He turns, and Apparates to the tent.  
  
* * *  
  
  
Desert Song  
  
  
The tent is still there, and Harry breathes a sigh of relief.  
  
Severus is seated on one pile of cushions, and gestures to the other pile.  
  
The elf serves a glass of cool mint tea.  
  
"Albert is not injured?"  
  
"No. He's fine. They're keeping him in for a few days, only as a precaution."  
  
"Hm. I see your offspring are as attached to frequenting hospitals as you were."  
  
"Wouldn't want to break with tradition."  
  
He gazes over at the dark man. He can do light and easy, he can do this.  
  
"S-Simon. Thank you again for looking after my son."  
  
A lazy handwave brushes away the thanks.  
  
"No, I don't think you understand. But I do, now - all the years, all the times you looked after me - us, all of us, and then that last year of the war. You don't know how putting something so precious into someone else's hands, and having them come back to you so much more than when they left - "  
  
Snape's mouth tightens, and Harry suddenly stops.  
  
"You always were obtu-"  
  
"No. I'm sorry. I'm wrong. Let me think for a moment. I'm just - this has been very sudden."  
  
Harry goes out to stand and stare up at the sky, full of stars and vast, and to breathe deeply in the warm dusty air.  
  
When he goes back into the tent, Severus hasn't moved, the lamps haven't been lit, and he moves to stand before the seated man.  
  
"I've been living with a fantasy for so many years. I would like to come back and talk with you. But I think I need time to find out who you are. Will you let me do that?"  
  
He knows Snape is looking at him, evaluating his request, and he feels breathless, giddy. He takes another deep breath to steady himself.  
  
"If you faint from hyperventilating, I am not looking after you. The elf can do it."  
  
But he didn't say no, he didn't say no, he didn't say no, a little voice sings inside him. He sits on his cushions to gaze at the man.  
  
"You look very at home here. I never would have thought a hot climate would suit you."  
  
"Wait an hour or two; it will get cold enough. Or did you imagine the sunlight would turn the bat of the dungeons to dust?"  
  
"No - it's just, I never imagined you looking so much like a sheikh out of the Arabian Nights."  
  
Severus snorts, "I doubt I am anyone's fantasy sheikh."  
  
"Oh, I don't know, I can imagine the  _Witch Weekly_  headline - Severus of the Sands -"  
  
"You will not tell anyone that you have found me here, Potter!"  
  
"No, of course not! Except - well, Al knows. He guessed, pretty much straight away. But he won't say anything!" Harry adds hurriedly, responding to the renewed glare.  
  
"And why should your son have guessed anything?"  
  
"Well, he noticed, when I arrived you - I - well, anyway, and then, I used to tell them stories about the war, and I guess, he's very perceptive, Al is."  
  
"I see. And what did your wife think of these stories you were telling your children?"  
  
"Oh, no - they were just about the war, and Hogwarts, and nothing about -" Harry gestures weakly with his hand between them.  
  
"Well, quite. I did not believe you would be telling your children tales of your pre-marital peccadillos."  
  
Harry looks up. "Peccadillos? I rather thought it was more than that."  
  
Severus shrugs.  
  
"I guess - I must have been more enthusiastic about you than I'd realised, when I was telling them. But the other two aren't - well, they're not as perceptive as Al."  
  
"Is he your favourite, then?"  
  
"No - yes - they're all different, and I love them all. James - well, James has always been pretty wild, and he's not let up with that yet." Harry sighs, wondering if his eldest will ever find himself.  
  
"I don't suppose he has found any reason to, yet."  
  
"Yes - and Ginny and me splitting up didn't help. Lily, well, she's so very much like Hermione, with a good splash of Luna -"  
  
"Potter, I taught hundreds, no, thousands of children over the years. But Miss Granger, certainly, is difficult to erase from my memory."  
  
"Luna Lovegood - very fair hair, Ravenclaw -"  
  
Snape's look of horror makes Harry stifle a snort of laughter.  
  
"Thank you, Mr. Potter. You have now reminded me why I loathed teaching, if I needed such a reminder."  
  
"Hey, she's really insightful, once you get past -" he waves his hand, remembering the wrackspurts.  
  
"Incapable of following directions, with wild, inexplicable leaps of intuition - an unpredictable terror in the classroom. I am content to have avoided another such. So. Albert is the pick of the litter."  
  
Harry stares at Snape, stares at the little smirk that tells him he's waiting for the outburst.  
  
"Well, seeing as Al is indisposed just now, what would you say to my taking his place?"  
  
Snape's eyes narrow, but Harry's seen the momentary shock.  
  
"What are you proposing, Potter?"  
  
"It's late, and I've booked no room. I guess that's Al's corner?" He gestures to the neat bedroll, the familiar trunk at the back of the tent. "I'd like to substitute as your curse-breaking apprentice for tomorrow, for however long Al's out of action."   
  
Snape gazes at him thoughtfully, and Harry does his breathing exercise, counting the slow inbreath, counting the slow outbreath, allowing time to move at its own pace.  
  
A curt nod, and Snape is rising. "That is your corner. You will keep your son's possessions there. This is my part of the tent. You will not go near anything here, or touch anything here. You will obey my instructions, or you will find yourself back at control."  
  
Harry smiles gently at Snape's induction speech. "No beauty and danger of the desert?"  
  
Snape stares at him sharply, but answers evenly, "I believe your experience today has given you fair warning of what to expect. If it hasn't, nothing I can say would impress it more firmly on your brain."  
  
He nods, and goes to unroll Al's bedding. Lying down, he is immersed in the smell of his boy, now a man, and is comforted.  
  
"Goodnight, S -Simon."  
  
"Go to sleep, Potter," comes grudgingly from the far side of the tent.  
  
* * *  
  
  
Camelopard  
  
  
Harry rolls over with a groan - his bed seems much harder than usual. His eyes fly open as he remembers the previous day, to find two black eyes regarding him from across the tent.  
  
"If you've decided to start the day, I will show you the first task my apprentices are required to perform," Sev - Simon says.  
  
Ducking his head to cover the blush that rose from an entirely inappropriate image, Harry quickly dresses and goes over to the man, who hasn't taken his eyes off Harry the whole time.  
  
"Okay, then, what is it? I'd like to check in on Al this morning, but apart from that, I'm all yours."  
  
A sardonic eyebrow rises, but Se - Simon gathers up wood festooned with straps and cords, two bags of hay, and nods to the tentflap. Harry holds it for him and he steps straight-backed around the back of the tent, where, by some scrubby thorny bushes are tethered two - somethings.  
  
Large, four-legged, desert-coloured, hairy somethings. A horrible wheezy roar comes from one, answered by a whining groan from the other.  
  
Sev - Simon places the items he is carrying down and regards the two animals with satisfaction.  
  
"Bal and Bel."  
  
They stop straining towards the hay to regard Harry with malicious yellowy eyes for a moment, then resume their intent focus on the food.  
  
"You will bring out their rations -" he gestures towards the hay, and it looks more appetising than the thorns they'd obviously been chewing, "- saddle them and bring them round to the front. Then, you can have your own breakfast, go see your son, and whatever else you can find to fill in an hour."  
  
Harry looks doubtfully at the animals. "Should I bow, and wait to approach them?"  
  
"You may, if you wish - it will make no difference to them. The hay is what they're interested in."  
  
Harry takes up a bag of hay and approaches the beasts tentatively.  
  
Bal snatches at the bag, tearing a mouthful of hay from it before retreating.  
  
Bel screeches, bares two long, sharp, deadly-looking fangs, and lashes his scaly reptilian tail as he whirls.  
  
Harry leaps back, avoiding decapitation, and whirls on Sev- Simon.  
  
The man is standing back, eyes glinting with amusement.  
  
Harry takes a deep breath.  
  
"How would you advise approaching them so I could saddle them?" he asks mildly.  
  
He is regarded for a long moment, before Se - Simon's mouth quirks.  
  
He distributes the hay into two equal piles, then removes a mouthful from one. The beasts watch intently as he places the handful on the other pile.  
  
Bel gives a satisfied screechy whine.  
  
"They are quite capable of calculating, probably to the straw, if you've not divided equally."  
  
Half of each pile is moved to opposite sides of the bush, just out of reach of the straining necks.  
  
"In most things, they are amicable companions, and extremely useful in defending against were-hyenas and the like."  
  
Simon walks back to the other items, picks up the darker lump of wood and shakes it, so the cords and straps fall dangling, and the thing is obviously a saddle.   
  
"My mount is Bal. Don't confuse the saddles, they are made for each beast."  
  
He moves both piles of hay into reach, and as Bal and Bel start eating, calmly walks up to Bal, flips the straps over, and settles the saddle. Doing up the straps takes a moment, and he steps back, letting Harry see the complex arrangement. The two are still eating, so Harry walks over to the other saddle. Shaking it doesn't produce an even, untangled fall of straps.  
  
He tries again, but has to look to Simon for assistance.  
  
"Place it on the ground."  
  
He does, and moves knots of dangly bits out from under the wood.  
  
"From the front, start moving the straps clear to either side. Match them up."  
  
Eventually, the thing is untangled, and he takes a quick look up at Bal, to get some idea of where these things are meant to go.  
  
"So you know when you come to put the saddles away, from the rear, bring each pair of straps up and cross them over the saddle. Then lift from underneath."  
  
Harry tidies the saddle, then lifts and tries the shake again. It almost works.  
  
Once he's managed to saddle Bel, using the second offering of hay, Se - Simon seems to be in an almost peaceful frame of mind.  
  
Harry is given a flatbread spread with something spicy and told to return in an hour from the field hospital.  
  
  
  
Al is sitting up, still groggy, but pleased to see him.  
  
He laughs, tells Harry that Simon had demonstrated carefully the feeding and saddling of Bel, and he wasn't allowed to go near Bal.  
  
"Watch out when you mount. You won't have tightened the girths up, and you'll fall off. I did."  
  
Making his way back to the tent, he ruminates on one thing Al said - "He's putting you through it - he must really rate you highly."  
  
  
  
Having avoided the saddle trap - Snape - no, Evans - raised an eyebrow and smirked, "Ah, your son seems to have learnt something, at least" - they set off out into the open, skirting the broken hillside.  
  
Harry finds if he sits forward, he is jolted unpleasantly, if he sits back, he starts to feel seasick from the winding motion of Bel's hindquarters. A study of S- Simon's technique results in the comment, " Sit up, and use your legs. Your thighs should be burning soon if you're doing it right."  
  
When Simon stops and dismounts, it is all Harry can do to slide off of Bel's back.  
  
"Tell me what you can about the cliff face," Simon instructs, and seats himself in the shade of a rock.  
  
Harry counts his breaths, shuts his screaming muscles out, and looks.  
  
He stands for half an hour in the burning sun before he catches the trace of something - is it a glow, or a fuzziness - around an outcrop halfway up the cliff.  
  
"There - but I don't know what it is."  
  
Simon uncoils, moves to his side, and grimaces.  
  
"Beginner's luck? There was a much more obvious trace to the other side. But this one, we hadn't found yet. Fine, let's have a look."  
  
He whistles Bal up - Bel trails along; mounts - Harry groans to himself; and points Bal directly at the cliff.  
  
Harry watches open-mouthed as the creature scrambles up the loose, crumbly rock face as though it were level, before leaping on and grabbing hold as Bel, emitting a screeching wail of displeasure, follows.  
  
This is like no mode of transport Harry has ever encountered, terrifying and uncomfortable in equal measure, until he is beside Simon, both beasts balanced on outcrops invisible to Harry's eyes.  
  
Simon slides off, and Harry just stops himself from grabbing at him. Simon can obviously see these invisible footholds as well.  
  
"What would you cast to discover any wards or traps?"  
  
They spend a pleasant hour or two debating various revealing and disarming spells, and Harry feels he's held his own as Simon nods finally, takes a sample of some sort, and remounts Bal.  
  
If Harry thought going up was bad, it's nothing to coming down.  
  
Back at the tent, Harry thinks he's achieved something when Simon brings out the hay and sets it, taking Bal's saddle off while Harry deals with Bel.  
  
Thinking the beasts have been useful, if not entirely comfortable, he pats Bel, only to have him emit a groaning shriek and a mouthful of hay-laced spit into his startled face.  
  
Rapidly retreating, he is nonplussed to find Simon doubled over with laughter.  
  
"I'm so glad I'm providing you with amusement."  
  
Simon calms his splutters enough to say, "Potter - they are never to be taken liberties with. Bal would slap her there if he were intent on mating."  
  
"Oh!"  
  
He looks back at Bel, finding the rheumy yellow eyes gazing back, calculating, while the hay is still being masticated.  
  
"Well, she likes you. It would have been a swift tailswipe if she didn't."  
  
"Um, good. I think."  
  
Simon takes pity on him and provides washing facilities - a bowl out on the sand, and a towel - before he is packed off to see his son.  
  
When Harry returns, the tent is lit by small oil lamps, and they take their supper reclining on cushions. It's almost romantic, but he finds his eyelids sliding shut; he is bone-weary from the exercise of the day.  
  
"Get to bed before I have the elf drag you there."  
  
He half-wakes several times with the light still flickering, Severus bent over some calculations, and he feels comfortable and safe.   
  
* * *  
  
  
Treasure  
  
  
The next day feels almost as if they're old companions. Harry speaks to a recovering Al, and goes back to share the feeding and saddling duties. They return to the spot Harry found yesterday and dismantle one, two, three defences, passing spells and commentary back and forth. They work well as a team, Harry thinks, each relaxed that the other is watching his back, calmly confident in each other's abilities.  
  
The mechanical swinging trap that late afternoon halts their progress, and they agree to halt for the night. Simon will collect some hardware from Mo this evening, and they will resume in the morning. Taking care of the camelopards is shared, and the supper is a candlelit time of quiet conversation. Harry settles down outside to enjoy the star-filled skies as Simon goes to collect the items he needs.   
  
This peace all changes when Simon returns. Harry's fallen asleep outside, and wakes to banging and crashing. Harry's not sure how a tent can produce so much noise. He goes in, to receive a black glare.  
  
"Your boy may be able to get round you but you are very much mistaken if you imagine I am so easily swayed," he hisses.  
  
"What? What do you mean?"  
  
"I am not your next conquest, Potter. I will not be gossiped about. I do not wish to see you, or your offspring, here again."  
  
Harry stares at him, completely confused.  
  
"I don't know what you're talking about. I have no idea what's upset you. All I know is, I can't deal with this sort of emotional rollercoaster. Unless you can sit down and tell me, calmly, what you see as the problem, I'm going to go over to the hospital and talk to Al."  
  
He waits for a moment, but Simon glares, sneers, and turns away, so Harry sighs and goes out.  
  
  
  
He finds Al sitting in the canteen drinking tea with some of the junior Healers, and slumps into a chair.  
  
The Healers glance at him, and find they need to get back to their duties.  
  
Al studies him for a long, silent moment.  
  
"Trouble?"  
  
"Hmpf. I'm going back to London. You - if you want, I can get your things -?"  
  
"I don't mind. I'll go back out."  
  
"Be careful, he's in a temper."  
  
"Are you giving up?"  
  
"What's to give up? There's nothing there; I just spent years wishing there was."  
  
"I don't think that's true, Dad."  
  
"I can't - I don't want to struggle any more. I can't convince him, when I'm trying to convince myself at the same time."  
  
"I've never seen you give up."  
  
"Maybe I'm just learning a bit of sense."  
  
"Will you wait for me while I get my stuff? I won't be long, and I've got a bit of medical leave now. We can go back together."  
  
"Yeah, sure. I'll be over in the Commisary, I expect Mo will let me wait in his office. Will you tell me what you said to him?"  
  
"Ah. Well, I just told him you seemed a lot more cheerful the last couple of days, and that he seemed to be good for you."  
  
"He's a very private man, and he never had an easy time of things. I guess I just wished -." Harry slumps at the table, moving the mugs in patterns.  
  
"Sorry, Dad. I've really messed up this time."  
  
"It's not your fault. It's not anyone's, really. It's about stuff that happened before you were born; some of it's from before I was born. We can't do anything about things like that unless we're willing to let past hurts go."  
  
  
  
He sits in the shade in front of the building, wondering how he could have got everything so wrong, how he could have misunderstood so badly.  
  
Well, it doesn't really matter; he's never been good at understanding people. He hardly had much help, until he got together with Ginny. She'd given him more insight into what people were about, more insight into what he was about. She'd never been horrible to him about it, either, even when they'd split up. They'd kept in pretty close contact, because of the kids. And then, he's not even sure it had been because of the kids, he just seemed to have been accepted into the Weasley family. The children – yes, they had cemented the connection, but he now thinks he would have been welcomed anyway.   
  
Mo comes out and looks sadly at him.  
  
"He's not an easy man."  
  
"No, he isn't."  
  
"You have known him for a long time."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"He will be consumed by the desert, that one. I thought at last he might have a chance at living."  
  
"You have to want to live. No one can make you."  
  
"You will take your boy back to London?"  
  
"Yes. There's nothing for me here."  
  
But as Mo turns, the flares go up.  
  
Harry is up and ready – Al is out there, as well as Severus.  
  
  
  
The tent is deserted, Al's trunk packed neatly.  
  
Harry goes to the place he'd found, that they had investigated so amicably – was it only yesterday?  
  
Al is halfway up the cliff, pale and dishevelled, and Harry gets him down before he can make out what his boy is saying.  
  
"He pushed me out, then the stone rolled over him. It should have been me, I set it off. But he pushed me out of the way."  
  
"What – go and get help – get Mo and some medics out here, go on. Get that djinn of his first, he might be helpful. Go. Now."  
  
Once Al is out of the way, Harry cautiously makes his way to the cave. There's an ominous quiet seething inside, and he has a bad feeling about the situation.  
  
When he gets to the curve in the tunnel, a large stone has rolled across closing off most of the tunnel, and there is a scrap of black cloth caught behind it. With his heart thundering, Harry slips around behind it.  
  
There is a clump of insubstantial things beside the wall by the stone, and the wave of coldness rolls off them as off of Dementors. Almost without thought, the stag Patronus is circling them, driving them back, away from the figure slumped by the wall, arm and head bloody. Harry throws himself to his knees, hoping he's not too late, desperately fumbling for the pulse at the neck, finding it, turning the face up to the light, dreading that he'll see blank eyes –   
  
"If you've quite finished pawing me, Potter?"  
  
He could almost cry with relief. The voice, though weak, is sharp and clear.  
  
He hugs the man to him, and even given the situation, he thinks the attempt to push him off is weak, half-hearted.  
  
"Come on, let's see what you've done to yourself now. What were those things, anyway?"  
  
"Sandwraiths. Don't pull so."  
  
"I'd like to get you out of here before they return. Or something worse – this place doesn't feel right."  
  
"Well, help me through the gap, then, and let's get that stone over the entrance. It won't levitate itself, you know."  
  
"You are doing no levitation in your state. Al's gone for help; they can sort it. You're going straight to the hospital."  
  
"You can't –"  
  
But Harry lifts him as gently as he'd carry one of his children, and brings him to the ground. The angry seething from the half-stoppered cave is growing louder. Suty is there and wrinkles his nose at the place.  
  
"Can you contain that?" Harry asks.  
  
Al and Mo arrive to see the djinn-elf packing stone after stone into the opening, muttering all the while.  
  
"It's dangerous. Will you make sure it's completely sealed?" he says to Mo.  
  
"Come on, you're coming back to hospital with me," he orders Al, and gathering Severus closer to him, Apparates.  
  
  
  
It's almost like so many years ago – Harry sitting by a hospital bed, watching a tall, thin wizard sleep. The medics have been efficient and unflappable; the man is given a knockout potion and then checked over. Skele-Gro and healing spells do their work, and Harry is left alone with Snape.  
  
Halfway through the night, Harry finds the black eyes are staring back at him.  
  
"Better?"  
  
"I'd be better if I were out of here."  
  
"Back to your tent?"  
  
A slight incline of the head.  
  
"Come on, then."  
  
His arms go round the man again, holding him close as he would his own flesh. He gently lays him on his pallet in the tent. Suty appears, bringing tea and fussing around his master.  
  
"Enough. I am not a total invalid."  
  
The glance at Harry keeps him by the bed.  
  
Harry arranges the cushions into a comfortable pile and offers the tea.  
  
"Will you tell me what happened?"  
  
"I – was distracted."  
  
"By Al? If he –"  
  
"No. Not by your boy."  
  
Severus is suddenly very interested in the tea, as Harry stares at him.  
  
"I believe I owe you an apology," he mutters.  
  
Harry is silent. He has dealt with these situations with his boys, after all.  
  
"I spoke too hastily. Al and Mo were attempting to encourage me. I find that unusual, and mistook their intentions."  
  
"And now? Do you find you might, ah – find their encouragement useful?"  
  
Harry finds the intense hawk eyes are fixed on him.  
  
"Useful? You would, even after I have misspoken so badly, you would countenance an – alliance?"  
  
He smiles softly, looking at the man he's longed to see for all those years, yes, older now, but still the one.  
  
"Some people say harsh things because they mean them, some from malice, some because they are angry. For the most part, I have nothing more to do with them. But sometimes there are things that are more important."  
  
"I have said harsh things to you for as long as I've known you. For all those reasons. Don't toy with me, Potter."  
  
"You have. I'm not," he says, picking up the undamaged hand, running his thumb over the bony knuckles, the long graceful fingers.  
  
"So, you would accept my malice, my heartlessness, for this desire you seem to nourish?  
  
"I don't believe you are heartless."  
  
"I am not a nice man. You cannot pretend that I am."  
  
"I don't pretend that you are. But, in all the years you taught, and hated teaching, in the time you've had raw cursebreakers foisted on you, how many have you lost or grievously injured?"  
  
"Your son –"  
  
"- is reckless and daring. He would not want to be a cursebreaker if he were not."  
  
"But why do you need me?"  
  
"I don't need you. But I want to be with you, though sometimes I wonder why."  
  
"Obviously, my scintillating personality. But, if you don't know why, that could change at any time."  
  
"I suppose it could. It hasn't for years, but it could. Are you going to stop breathing now because at some point, you will? Will you never open your eyes now because someday they must shut?"  
  
"You are becoming altogether too much like Dumbledore," the man grumbles, but still does not pull away his hand.  
  
"You have been found out. Pretend to yourself as much as you like that you want nothing to do with people. You still look after those in your care to the best of your abilities."  
  
Severus grimaces and shakes his head.  
  
"You are mad."  
  
"Well, I may be, at that. Settle back down, now. That head needs healing."  
  
As Severus relaxes back into the bed, their linked hands pull Harry forwards. Severus raises his eyebrows, and Harry smiles, settling down beside him. The long arm pulls him in close.  
  
"Nothing more energetic than this. You're not to exert yourself."  
  
"I wasn't about to exert myself. You, however, being younger and uninjured, might be more energetic. You haven't forgotten the effects of Skele-Gro?"  
  
"The pins and needles, and the aching? So, you feel you could do with some distraction?"  
  
With a dark smirk, he says, "I believe I recall you were quite adept at distraction, once."  
  
"If I only have this of you –" thinks Harry, reaching up to part the light hospital gown and reacquaint himself with the thin, pale body. He knows he cannot, never has learned how, so he does not try to hold back any part of himself from this.  
  
Moving his hands along the chest thinly sheathed with muscle, the stomach quivering gently, he finds he has not forgotten the paths of pleasure he'd mapped so long ago. As he moves down, he is pulled around by the good hand, wicked fingers finding places unexplored in the intervening years. The desperation, the frantic urgency is not there, leaving a slow, tender renewal of a long lost connection. Threading his fingers through the sparse black hair at his lover's groin, mouthing, licking, sucking the jutting cock, he is aware of the sharp eyes following every move and turns so that as much as possible is visible. The hiss of appreciation pushes him closer, but Severus is comingcomingcomingcoming, relaxing from the explosion to resume a long-drawn-out teasing that seems to take hours to complete to his satisfaction.   
  
At some point in the night, his mouth is captured over and over again by the thin lips, to be told, "You still … have not learnt … moderation …"  
  
"Probably never shall, now. You are not setting as good an example as you might, though, are you?"  
  
"Skele-Gro," Severus mutters.  
  
"Funny, I don't remember sexual insatiability to be one of the side-effects."  
  
  
  
The next morning, Harry considers the rather dishevelled but much healthier-looking man beside him.  
  
"You know, that arm isn't going to be fully usable for awhile yet, not for looking after your camelopards."  
  
"Hmm? What are you suggesting?"  
  
Severus looks entirely too pleased with himself, and casually waves Suty to put down the breakfast, ignoring the djinn-elf's astonishment at finding his irascible master not alone in his bed.  
  
"You'll need help for a bit, and, as it happens, I find I'm available and in need of a holiday."  
  
"Indeed. Are you applying for the position, then?"  
  
"I believe I may apply for a few positions. But they must all involve a certain person."  
  
"There may be quite a few positions available."  
  
"Would they all require living in a tent in the desert?"  
  
Severus considers him soberly for a moment.   
  
"I believe that requirement may be receding."  
  
"Would there be any requirement," Harry asks tentatively, "to avoid Britain?"  
  
They stare at each other silently, until Severus finally shakes his head slowly.  
  
Harry swallows hard, knowing what that has cost the man. But unless he makes everything clear from the start, it isn't an informed decision.   
  
"Be aware, though, that I now come with family. Jamie tries my patience; Al - well, you know Al. Lils is ridiculously clever, and will charm you thoroughly. And Ginny – Ginny is a true friend, and the mother of my children. I also live close to the Weasleys, and Ron and Hermione, Neville and Luna, and all their children, and Teddy, visit often."  
  
Severus has heard him out patiently, but now raises an eyebrow.  
  
"Are you trying to put me off? Have you reconsidered already?"  
  
"No. But you need to know these things. They are all a part of me now, and that will not change."  
  
"You seriously propose standing up in front of all these people, most of whom have no reason to think of me kindly, and saying we –" he makes a gesture between them.  
  
Harry sets his jaw defiantly, "I am."  
  
Severus shakes his head wonderingly, "I presume there is some room to which I can retire when they all fly at you?"  
  
Harry beams. "Really? You really would come back with me?"  
  
"I believe that may be the only safe way to monitor this insanity that has come over you."

  


-The End-

 


End file.
